Exit Wounds
by GSRsara4eva1623
Summary: Sara goes to a bar after work to unwind and to forget, but what happens after is something she wants to forget even more. GSR.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **CSI is not mine, I'm just playing with the characters. The song Exit Wounds by The Script also isn't mine, but I loooove it and I think it fits GSR very well :)

**A/N: **I stopped writing for awhile but I discovered the first chapter of this story sitting on my desk (from a year ago) and I was inspired to finish it. This is the second story I've written as a result of being mad at my English teacher lol I'm setting this story around season five, but after Nesting Dolls and its before Grissom and Sara are in a relationship. This also is not a work in progress. This is the first time I've completed a multi-chapter story before posting it, but I am posting it in sections. It's not beta'd but I've reread it a bunch of times for errors, I apologize if you find any.

**Rating:** M, for language and subject matter.

**Exit Wounds**

_My hands are cold, my body's numb_

_I'm still in shock, what have you done?_

_My head is pounding, my vision's blurred_

_Your mouth is moving, I don't hear a word_

~ Exit Wounds by The Script

**Prologue**

There was the dull tink of glasses on the maple wood bar and the chatter of people was a distant garbled sound that her mind blocked out. She was thinking, though thinking didn't do much good in a drunken haze. If someone asked, she'd say she didn't have a drinking problem. Her problem was that she couldn't handle certain cases at work. And then because she couldn't handle those certain cases, she would go to a bar until she couldn't remember the faces of the victims she had seen laid out on the metal autopsy room tables that shift. No, the alcohol wasn't the problem. It was her job, and her past. Her past was the reason that she couldn't handle the effects that some cases had on her.

Bursts of light would blind her for a moment because of the alcohol consumption, but with it would come a crime scene photo she had taken, the twisted and mangled body of the broken girl in the desert. Somewhere in the sea of alcohol warming her body, she had forgotten the girl's name and, for a moment, she realized that was probably a disgrace to the dead girl. Even if they could not catch her killer, she should not be forgotten. But all Sara wished for at that moment was to completely forget the thirty-eight hours straight she had worked, and everything she had seen. The overtime was in no way because the case was hot. The girl had been dead at least 2 weeks, and the wind and the swirling sand in the desert had left little valuable trace evidence to be discovered. There really was no more she could do. But when Grissom came and forced her to leave, she refused to admit that she had done all that she could. And so he had made her leave, offered to drive her home but she insisted she would be fine. Maybe if she had gone with him, she wouldn't be sitting in this place right now, her finger tracing the rim of her glass, her head propped up on her hand. But it didn't matter. He did not have to take care of her; she had walked to the bar, left her car at the lab to ensure that she could not be pulled over for another DUI.

Now, all she wanted to do was forget. Forget all the photos and the questionings of hysterical parents and relatives and everything that she had imagined the girl had suffered before her death…

"May I buy you a drink, doll?" So immersed in her own thoughts, Sara had failed to notice the man move over to her private corner of the bar. She lifted her head and glanced him over more out of habit than knowing what to look for, her normal scrutiny and suspicion for strangers was marred by the alcohol swirling her thoughts.

"No, thank you," she responded, her speech treading the line between slurred and incoherent. "I should go," she said, sliding off the stool but her legs failed to hold firm and she found herself being tugged back onto the stool by strong arms.

"What's your name?" he asked. Her eyes glanced over at the hand he had left grasping her upper arm, as if to keep her from losing her balance and toppling over. She appeared to be deep in thought for a moment before she answered in a voice hinting uncertainty.

"Sara," she said.

"Sara, I'm Jack. How about I call you a cab?"

"No, no. I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm just going to walk home." She slung her purse over her shoulder and placed her feet on the floor, this time her legs were a bit steadier.

"It wouldn't be safe for a girl as pretty as you to walk down the streets of Vegas in your condition. You don't know what kind of creeps could be out there," he said. Sara scoffed.

"Believe me, I know," she muttered, allowing him to take her arm. She followed as he weaved his way out of the bar and out onto the sidewalk. There was no need to call a cab; there was already a row of yellow and black cars along the curb waiting for the intoxicated late night patrons. Jack pulled open one of the doors and Sara practically fell into the car. She watched him from the window as he closed the door and went around the car only to open the door on the other side and climb in beside her.

"I can get home okay from here," Sara said, her words mumbled and strung together.  
>"Maybe, but I'd feel better if I saw you to your door," Jack said, something glinted in his sharp blue eyes but Sara wasn't sure if it was an emotion or just a reflection from the tail lights of the car in front of them. "Where do you live?" he asked, nudging her lightly.<p>

"Uh..." she murmured, fumbling a few seconds with her bag, retrieving her driver's license. "Here," she said, pointing to the address on the card. Jack recited the address of her apartment to the cab driver and soon they were in the traffic of the strip.

Her head fell against his leather jacket clad shoulder and her eyes flickered closed a few times during the ride to her apartment, the cab muffling the sounds of late night partiers and tourists on the strip. Jack had to jostle her awake, pay the cabbie, and then run around to the other side of the cab before she could attempt to step out on her own. His arm around her waist, he followed a path through the complex until coming across her apartment number. If she had been lucid, Sara would have picked up on the small detail that Jack did not tell the cab driver to wait. But her mind was far from logical now.

Sara fished her keys out of her jeans pocket; they clattered together as her hands fumbled with the carved metal. She missed the lock in the door and the keys fell to the floor. Jack bent to retrieve them and then unlocked the apartment door, pushing Sara inside. Before she regained her balance, he had the door closed and locked and her back pinned against it, arms twisted together above her head.

CSIGSRCSIGSR

Her head was pounding even before she opened her eyes to the harsh sunlight spilling in through the blinds which she had, strangely, not closed. She pushed herself to sit up and it felt like her brain was rolling around in her skull. Her wrists ached as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed. Her legs were bare, and so was her upper body. This wasn't right. She didn't sleep naked. Hell, she couldn't remember going to sleep. The pain in her wrists had her eyes shifting to the tender skin, black and blue, as if she'd been held down. Searching her mind for an explanation, she couldn't remember an incident in the interrogation room with a suspect; her case hadn't even gotten that far.

Sara lifted her head to look around the room but found her eyes looking back at her through the mirror above her dresser. Her face was bruised too. The right side, just under her eye, was a mix of purple and black splattered skin swelling over her cheek bone. Gingerly, she brushed the damaged area with her fingertips and winced when they made contact with the fresh bruises. In the reflection from the mirror, she saw her bed was a tousled mess of sheets and blankets wrapped and twisted around each other. She tended to move in her sleep, but not to this extreme.

Standing to adjust the blankets, her eyes caught on something on the floor, the carelessly discarded used condom was enough to send her rushing for the small wicker garbage pail beside her nightstand. Her body revolted and she threw up only liquid in a multitude of colors. It tasted like alcohol coming back up too. And that was her answer. She had gone for a drink or two, or a few, after work, and had carelessly, and stupidly, let her guard down. And someone, whose face she couldn't remember, let alone know if he had even introduced himself, had come into her house and violated her. Had used her. Had raped her.

She dropped to the floor and leaned against the wall for support. _Oh __God, what else had he done?_ She just couldn't remember anything after leaving work and walking to the bar, specifically so she wouldn't get pulled over and so Grissom would have nothing else to shove in her face. Oh how she had fucked up.

Without thought, Sara grabbed the cordless phone from her nightstand and began to dial…9...1…1… She halted on the call button. She couldn't call 9-1-1 and say that she believed she was taken advantage of last night but could not remember a single thing. No, it would be like tattling on the man that did this to her meanwhile it didn't even matter because it never would've happened if she hadn't gotten so drunk. They would laugh at her. A brilliant CSI who was aware of every danger Las Vegas posed, let alone every danger the city posed to someone no longer in control of what was happening to them. She clicked the end button, deleting the dialed number, and instead, did the next best thing.

"Hello?" he said, his voice heavy and lazy, hinting that she had woken him from a deep sleep.

"Grissom?" Sara asked, swallowing back the tears burning her throat.

"Sara?" he responded, she could almost picture him becoming more awake at the weakness in her voice. She curled an arm around her legs, closing herself into a tight ball.

"I… I need you," she managed to get out; her voice more high pitched as she was on the verge of tears.

"Where are you? ...Are you home?" he asked alarmed, and she could hear as he got out of bed and started moving around. She nodded, forgetting for a moment that he could not see her.

"Yes," she squeaked out.

"Okay, honey, I'll be right there," he said, and then she hung up the phone.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you'll stick with it 'til the end. I will decide when next to update based on reviews, so please review :) And since this story is completely written, I will try to reply to each review. Thanks again for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **CSI is still not mine.

**A/N:** I was amazed by the response to this story! I've never gotten so many reviews for one chapter before. Thank you so much! And an extra thank you to those I didn't get a chance to personally respond to. You guys are all awesome :)

I feel like I need to warn you that the focus of this story isn't on the case, it's on Sara and Grissom and how they deal with her attack. The case is basically a side story just used to get Sara and Grissom to this point. Also, keep in mind this is a short story: approximately 9,000 words broken into about five chapters.

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSR**

Before the insistent knocking at her apartment door came, Sara had managed to cover herself with a lavender terrycloth robe that hid the bruises on her wrists. The collar brushed up against her neck, also covering the splatter of bruises on her chest and collarbone. The sight of her tangled bed sheets had made her queasy and she could no longer stand being in her bedroom. She was repulsed by the idea that her attacker was still on her, evidence wise at least. She fumbled for a change of clothes and then showered quickly before Grissom arrived twenty minutes later.

She had been slightly afraid to leave her bedroom, scared of what the rest of her apartment might look like and what she could deduce had happened from the scene. A side table had toppled over, fallen magazines spread around it, books had fallen from the shelf beside the door, and a few pieces of furniture were askew. _At least I tried to fight him…_Sara thought, scoffing at how pathetic the entire situation was. She had seen her PEAP counselor like Grissom had required and yet that didn't stop her from drinking. She was trained in self-defense, and yet that did not stop some unidentified man from…raping her. Her throat tightened at the thought of the word related to her. _I was so stupid. This never should've happened._

She heard Grissom knock as she was debating what to do about her apartment in its current state of disarray. At first her heart jumped into her throat at the thought that the man who had attacked her knew her address and could, at any time, be on the other side of that door. She would not even know who to look out for. On shaky legs, she looked out through the peephole and unlocked the door, no longer trembling after she saw Grissom. He looked nervous, hands stuffed into his pants pockets, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet.

She pulled opened the door and then wrapped her arms protectively around herself, tucking her wrists beneath her upper arms to hide the bruises, though she had done nothing to cover the discoloration of her face. He appeared to be struck speechless at the sight of her, his eyes taking in her hunched form and the contusion tarnishing her lovely face.

"Sara, what…what happened?" he struggled with the words, his arm reaching out to touch hers through the thick material of her robe. His fingers pressed lightly to her face, as if he was checking if she had any facial fractures. She winced but he did not pull away until he was satisfied that it was just a bruise, a really bad bruise.

"I… don't really know," she admitted softly, her arms loosening from around her body but not falling away. She looked as if she was about to fall apart. Her brown eyes had shined with tears since she'd opened the door.

"What do you mean you don't know?" his voice harsh and his words sharp, as if he had physically cut her. A tear spilled past her eyelashes, falling over her bruised skin. She wiped it away quickly, but Grissom did not miss the slip of her sleeve to reveal the bruising on her wrist.

"Sara…" he said softly. He took her hand gently in his, fingers tracing over the fresh bruises with a feather light touch. He easily picked up on the shape and position of the bruise. "Sara, I need you to tell me what happened after I took you off that case and made you go home." Sara dropped herself onto the couch, wiping another tear away and Grissom saw identical bruising on her other wrist.

"I didn't go home," she murmured.  
>"Okay," Grissom said, sitting down next to her and encouraging her to continue.<p>

"I walked to a bar a few blocks from the lab. I wanted to…forget," she said, knotting her fingers together, hands clasped on her lap. Grissom covered both of her small hands with his warmer one, stilling her movement, which gave her little else to focus on but retelling what happened.

"And then?" he said, a bit more insistent.

"I don't remember what happened after I got to the bar. I just woke up with a throbbing headache and these bruises… and the bed sheets were all tangled… and there was a…a used," she stopped talking, the words getting harder and harder to force out until she felt herself gag on the last word. Grissom, though, seemed to get the message. He held her hands a little tighter.

"Sara, did someone rape you?" he asked the question directly, though she was not able to give him a definite answer. His anger boiled at just the thought that someone had dared to harm her.

"I… I think so. I must've been so far gone, that I couldn't… refuse him," she gulped out. "He… He took advantage of me… I know. I know I should not have gotten so drunk, but I did Grissom…" She said, wanting desperately to collapse against him.

"No, Sara, no. This is not your fault. Just because you were impaired because you were drinking does not change what he did to you," Grissom said sternly. Knowing Sara, she would place all the blame on herself. "Sara, you need to be looked over. I'm going to take you to the hospital," Grissom said. She shook her head vehemently.

"No," she said in a whisper, her voice barely audible.

"Sara, if you won't go willing, I'll call for an ambulance to come and get you," Grissom said.

"No…No, Grissom… please," she begged, removing her hands from his to clutch the sleeve of his jacket. "Please, Grissom, don't make me go," she cried, tears now streaming from her eyes. Her sobs were his undoing. His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her body against him so that she was leaning against his chest. Her fists tightened around bunches of his jacket, holding on to him as if he was the only thing that was keeping her grounded.

"Sara…Sara…" he soothed, smoothing back her hair. "Sara, what would you tell someone if they were in your situation?" She knew what he was getting at.

"That…they should reach out and get help."

"Then why won't you take your own advice and reach out for help?" Grissom said.

"I did. I called you," Sara said, her head tucked under his chin. "But I'm not a victim. I'm a CSI for god's sake. I know all the horrible things that go on and I still got myself into this mess."

"No Sara. This isn't your fault…I'm taking you to the hospital," his voice was stern, leaving no room for argument, but she disagreed anyway.

"No. No one is poking and prodding at me," she said just as definitively, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Sara, you know there's evidence on you."

"I showered," she said, her tone defiant. He sighed in frustration, realizing he was getting no where fast with her, and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a migraine. He did not think she would refuse justice.

"Then I'm sure there's enough evidence here," he countered, spreading his arms to indicate her apartment.

"I don't care… Look, I'm sorry I called you. It was a mistake. I need you to leave," she said, all but shoving him out the door. Dangerously close to the exit, he got an idea.

"…At least let me help you clean up your apartment." He could see her pause in thought, weighing the options of being alone and cleaning or having him there with her.

"Okay," she said, her voice soft and resigned. Her arms fell to her sides from where they'd been tightly hugging her midsection. She took a step backwards so that she was no longer pushing him out the door. Again, she was lost for words, not knowing where to go from her acceptance of his help. He saw her pause as the opening he needed for his plan.

"How about I clean up the bedroom and you just straighten up out here?" He saw the relief spread across her face over not having to see what was left of last night again, all over her bedroom.

"Thank you," she said. With a nod, he disappeared down the short hallway and, body aching, Sara bent to clean up the magazines scattered across the living room floor.

He reappeared a few hours later, carrying a black garbage bag.

"I disinfected every surface, vacuumed, threw out the sheets, and flipped the mattress… I'm just going to go throw this out," he said, displaying the bulging garbage bag. He left the apartment, heading in the direction of the dumpster, but instead he went to his car, throwing the black bag in to the trunk. It contained her bed sheets, the bag from the vacuum, and the used condom he'd discovered on the floor. Sara didn't need to know where the garbage bag had truly ended up. She was refusing to help herself, so he had made the decision to help her. He would bring all the items to the evidence locker at the lab for safe keeping, until Sara came to the realization that she wanted her attacker punished for what he did to her. Until then, he would process and store everything he had secretly collected.

When he'd walked out of the apartment, Sara had moved quickly to lock the door. The dumpster was only a few apartments over but, for all she knew, the man from the bar was still out there. She was startled by the turning of the knob and then the knock on the door.

"Sara?" Grissom called, she heard the confusion in his voice. Quickly unlocking and opening the door, she stepped aside to let him back in.

"Sorry," she said. Catching the fear as it started to dissipate from her chocolate eyes, he didn't question her actions. He understood why she had been so quick to secure the apartment even though he was only a short distance away.

Back inside, his eyes surveyed the differences. The living room and kitchen area now looked like they did the time he had come to talk to her after her blow up with Catherine and Ecklie. Aside from his memory of it, Grissom never would've thought her apartment had been trashed just a few hours earlier. With nothing left to be put back in its place, he did not know if Sara wanted or needed him to stay any longer. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of leaving her alone; knowing the man who had attacked her had her address. It was getting dark out and they both had the night off from work.

"Sara, I want you to stay the night with me," Grissom said, prepared for an argument.

"Okay." He was surprised at how easily she agreed. It became obvious to him then by the fleeting glances she directed routinely around the room, as if checking the shadows for any dark figure lurking there, and, by the slight trembling of her hands, that she was afraid in her own apartment.

"I'll go pack a bag," she said, leaving him standing alone in her living room. He watched her walk slowly to the bedroom as if it was the last thing she wanted to do, but hesitating only slightly at the doorway. What seemed like thirty seconds later, she was already finished and exiting the room, looking as frightened as a child who had escaped the basement where the monster lived. They left her apartment without another word.

**TBC**

**A/N:** I would love it if you guys would all review this chapter :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** CSI and Ghost Whisperer are not mine in any way, shape, or form.

**Spoilers:** As you can tell by the disclaimer, there's some talk of Ghost Whisperer in this chapter (I had just watched these episodes when I wrote this). You don't need to know anything about it to follow along but there are spoilers. Also, don't try to figure out when the season of GW aired compared to when this story takes place. It won't fit together.

**A/N:** First off: Happy Holidays! Second: I'm very sorry for not updating sooner. These past two weeks were hectic. My grandma was in the hospital for a week and then she died two fridays ago. Then with making up school stuff and the holidays, I was extremely preoccupied. Yes, this chapter was already written but I needed to do some more editing (considering my best friend laughed at a serious part) and it just kept getting put off. I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has been reviewing! I hope you continue to follow this story :)

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSR**

Sara seemed to be visibly relaxed and more composed upon entering his townhouse. While the décor did not scream "home sweet home", it was warm and smelled uniquely of Grissom, making her feel safe, as if wrapped in his arms, not that she knew what that felt like.

"The spare bedroom is at the end of that hallway. If you want to put your bag away…" he said, pointing towards the door. She nodded and went off as he prepared a pot of coffee.

The coffee had already gurgled and filled the carafe, and as he poured it into separate mugs he realized that Sara had been gone a longer time than he thought necessary to put away a bag. Taking one mug of coffee in each hand, he padded softly to the open door at the end of the hallway.

She was seated on the end of the bed, hands folded in her lap, simply staring blankly at the deep red colored wall in front of her. It took three calls of her name to rein her mind in. She was startled back to the present by his voice.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was just coming to see what was taking you so long," he said, sitting beside her and handing her a full coffee mug. She cradled it in her hands a moment, studying the color of the liquid before taking a sip.

"Oh, um, nothing," she said, shaking her head. There was a pause as she sipped her coffee again. "You remembered how I take my coffee," she said, biting her lip to contain a grin. Grissom shrugged with an almost sheepish smile.

"I'm not totally oblivious," he commented, drinking his own coffee. Though Sara begged to differ, she held her tongue.

"What would you like for dinner?" he asked.

"I'm not hungry," she said, her index finger playing around the rim of the ceramic cup, spinning circles around the liquid.

"When was the last time you ate?" She pursed her lips in thought and a few silent moments passed as he watched her in deep concentration.

"I don't remember," she finally admitted, albeit reluctantly.

"You need to eat something."

"I'll have whatever you're having." He wanted to remind her that she was a vegetarian while, on the contrary, meat was a staple in his diet, but he didn't. Instead, he noted to himself to make a meatless dish.

"Do you mind if I take a shower?" she asked.

"I thought you showered before I got to your apartment?"

"I did but I still feel…" Her sentence trailed off when she was unable to find the appropriate word to explain how she was feeling.

"Are you sure? I could still call Catherine and she could-"

"NO," she shouted, her voice harsh. Head in her hand she muttered "Sorry". Rubbing a hand over her forehead in frustration, she muttered, "I don't know what's wrong with me." Her back stiffened when she felt the heat of Grissom's palm skating along her spine in a motion that was meant to be soothing. He pulled his hand away then; concerned his touch had caused her pain.

"Can you show me which door is the bathroom?" she asked, getting to her feet.

"Uh, sure."

When she came out of the shower, her skin was bright pink and he knew she'd scrubbed with water so hot it burned. She wore a pair of sleep pants and a tank-top that did nothing to hide the extensive bruising on her upper body.

"I think I'm just going to go lay down now," she said, stepping onto the cool tiles of the kitchen floor.

"Dinner will be ready in a minute, and then you can go to bed," Grissom said, glancing at her over his shoulder while spooning rigatoni into two bowls.

"Gris, I'm really not hungry right now," she sighed, arms wrapped around her middle.

"Please, honey, just eat a little. For me," he said, pouring a meatless sauce over the macaronis. She didn't say anything more but instead pulled herself onto a barstool at the counter. He placed a bowl in front of her, and then sat at the opposite side of the counter.

She twisted around her fork, pushing the rigatoni to the edges of the bowl. Her stomach was doing summersaults at the sight of food and she didn't think she would be able to hold anything down. She played around with the macaronis in front of her, hoping he had not noticed that she hadn't once lifted the fork from the bowl.

Grissom knew she had not eaten anything. While he had not counted how many macaronis were in her bowl to start with, he had been watching her enough to realize that she still hadn't put any of them on her fork.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" he commented. She would have glared at him had she had the energy to, instead she barely looked up. Giving in, Grissom decided it would be okay if she didn't eat for a day. He would just have to make sure that she ate a big breakfast in the morning. By now she'd stopped pretending to eat and looked to be struggling to keep her eyes open. He stood and cleared away her bowl.

"It's okay, you can go sleep," he said, preparing to wrap the leftovers. "Do you need anything?" he asked and she shook her head no. He was finding it hard to look at her battered face and turned his eyes back to wrapping the leftovers as she walked past him and down the hall. When he heard the bedroom door click shut, he sighed, in relief or frustration he wasn't sure. After putting the bowls in the dishwasher and the leftovers in the fridge, he settled on the couch to read a chapter in one of his entomology textbooks and then some Shakespeare.

He'd been so absorbed in his books that he did not notice an hour had passed until he heard the guest bedroom door open, along with the soft padding of her bare feet down the hallway.

"Are you okay?" he asked, closing his book, thumb holding the page.

"Yea, I guess I wasn't as tired as I thought," she said, dropping onto the other end of the couch, but one look at her told him she was still exhausted. She leaned against the arm of the couch, smoothing the wrinkles from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Do you want to watch anything?" he asked, after a long moment of her staring off into space. He offered her the remote.

"Mmmm…today's Saturday, right?" She paused a moment in thought. "I think Ghost Whisperer is on," she said.

"What's that about?" Grissom asked, showing vague interest. Surprised he wanted to know; Sara kept the shock out of her voice.

"Well this woman…Melinda, can see and speak with ghosts. So in each episode there's a ghost that comes to her, in one way or another, and she helps them to resolve whatever is keeping him or her earthbound," Sara explained, her hands moving as she spoke.

"That sounds…ridiculous," Grissom said.

"It's entertaining…One of my diversions," she said, challenging him to judge her.

"…You can turn it on," he said, holding out the remote to her again. She took it from his hand.

"Are you sure? It's not going to distract you from your reading?" she asked, but not really caring for his answer. She was already trying to figure out what channel the show would be on based on his cable provider.

"No. Go ahead," he said, shaking his head and then reopening his book.

She switched on the TV and then searched the channel guide until she came across it. While Sara had seen all of the episodes, she was still intently focused on the screen. A little less than a half a quarter into the show, she saw Grissom put down his book in her peripheral vision.

"So what's this one about?" he asked, his arm along the back of the couch, head propped on his hand.

"Well, it's a multi-episode story. In the episode before this, Melinda is contacted by an airplane pilot. He says he's dead and no one's driving the plane but it hasn't crashed yet. One of the flight attendants gives her the flight information and she learns that the brother of her friend, Andrea, may have been on that plane. Andrea thinks her brother died meanwhile Andrea actually died while on the way to his apartment because she was under the plane, in her car, when it crashed. So for most of the show Melinda's been talking to Andrea's ghost but she doesn't get the chance to tell Andrea she's dead (Andrea didn't know she died) so she only finds out when her brother shows up at Melinda's store and he walks right through her," Sara explained in her usual fast paced rambling. "So this episode starts where the other ended and Melinda has to help Andrea to crossover." At Grissom's incredulous look, Sara said, "You're right. It's stupid."

"No. No…" he said. He shifted more towards the center of the couch, closer to Sara, settling in to watch the show.

As the events unfolded across the screen, they had moved closer to each other, attracting like the opposite ends of magnets. When he reached for the remote on the coffee table to adjust the volume, he ignored the foot of cushion space they'd managed to keep between them, settling in again, but with their shoulders touching. After hesitation on her part, Sara put her head on his shoulder, and it took only a moment for him to wrap one arm loosely around her waist. They did not speak during the show but he glanced at her from the corner of his eye every once in a while. Her expression never changed, she was fixated by the story playing out. He found himself kissing her bruised knuckles as the screen went black and the credits rolled.

"I'm uh, just going to go to bed now," she said, pulling her hand from his and standing up from the couch. "G'night."

"Goodnight," he said, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV. He retrieved his Shakespeare book from the end table as her footsteps grew distant, continuing from where he'd left off.

He found himself losing focus, needing to reread a page three times until he retained the events. His thoughts wandered from the words on the page to Sara in his guestroom trying to sleep. Every once in a while he'd hear soft footfalls on the wood floor. She was pacing, he guessed.

Almost two hours had passed since she'd turned in for the second time. Her room had been silent for awhile. Deciding it would be best to check on her, he crept down the hallway, not wanting his steps to wake her if she'd finally found peace. There was a soft glow from under the door that he recognized as illuminating from the small reading light on the nightstand. Not wanting her to fall asleep with the light shining on her, he slowly turned the knob and eased the door open.

She must not have been asleep because just the quiet movement of the knob had Sara bolting up in bed, wiping the back of her hand across her face.

"Sorry, I thought you'd fallen asleep with the light on." She just shook her head in the negative, knowing her voice would be heavy with tears, but she was sure he had already noticed the wetness left on her cheeks.

Instead of just backing up and closing the door, Grissom surprised himself by taking steps closer to her bed. As he came nearer, he noticed her hands were shaking, and then he realized it was not just her hands but her entire body trembling.

The edge of the mattress dipped beside her hip under his weight. She watched with red and bleary eyes as his hand came up, making contact with her cheek. The rough and calloused pad of his thumb caressed with a whisper of a touch over her bruised skin.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. With a huff and a "not really", she threw herself back against the pillows, and then regretted it when her vision spun. Grissom let his hand fall to his lap. She closed her eyes, trying to stop the dizziness. Her headache had returned while she was trying to fall asleep. Her response gave him an out, but for the second time that night he surprised himself when, instead of standing up and leaving, he asked, "Would it help if I stayed?"

"It wouldn't make things worse," was her quiet response.

When she felt the mattress lift, she did not know what to make of his disappearance. Leaving her eyes closed, she was unable to decipher where he was headed. She heard the squeak of door hinges, then some shuffling, and then a door closing before he returned to her side. She opened her eyes then to see Grissom draping another heavy blanket over her form.

"You're still shaking," he offered as explanation.

"I know," she mumbled sleepily. She turned onto her side, facing him, her bruised body making it uncomfortable to sleep in other position. She was tired but her mind just would not shut down.

Seated on the edge of the bed again, Grissom rubbed her arm back and forth through the layers of blankets. It was odd really, because it reminded her of the times, few and far between, when her mother had coaxed her back to bed after a nightmare. Staying with her and rubbing her back until she was able to fall asleep again. But yet this was different. Her mother was her mother, but Grissom had no obligation to this. There was nothing that said a supervisor had to take care of his subordinate, that he had to offer his home to her, that he had to, much less, help her sleep. She stopped contemplating it though when her eyelids began to fall closed without her permission. She felt her mind starting to drift but refused to succumb to sleep. She caught herself on the precipice of unconsciousness and startled back to the present.

"It's okay," Grissom soothed, his hand running over her hair. "I'm right here, I'm not leaving you." She closed her eyes then and gave in to her body's need for sleep.

Grissom felt her shift position slowly, curling her legs to her chest. He noted that her shaking had stopped, but her brow was pinched, lips turned down in a frown. A few incoherent mumblings fell passed her lips. He did not want to wake her, but he was scared that she was reliving her attack. He lifted her body lightly, moving so she was cradled along his side, her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her until he felt her relax into a dreamless sleep again.

Not wanting to extricate himself now because she would surely wake, he made the decision to sleep beside her. Aside from waking her if he got out of bed now, his excuse for staying was that he would be able to ward off her nightmares.

**TBC**

****CSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSR****

****A/N:**** Reviews would be a great Christmas present :D


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** First off, I want to thank everyone for their well wishes. They mean a lot to me. I'd also like to thank you guys for the contiunously awesome reviews! They amaze me everytime. This is actually the second to last chapter and by the end of it you should have a pretty good idea as to where its headed. This chapter changes the story's direction a bit to set up for the ending. If you know the song Exit Wounds and you look at the first few lyrics after the ones I posted with the prologue, you'll know exactly where this is going.

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

That morning when he awoke, he found Sara still sound asleep, their legs tangled together through the blankets. Her head was still on his shoulder and his arms were wrapped around her midsection. Knowing the situation would be uncomfortable if she woke to see them like this, he carefully extracted himself from beneath her.

He glanced at the clock. If he showered slowly and cooked breakfast for Sara and himself, he could go into the lab at a time when he would not have to worry about night shift being around. Aside from what people seemed to think, double shifts did not happen that often, and if a case had warranted it, he would've been called in from his night off.

He proceeded to shower and get dressed, peeking in on Sara again before padding down to the kitchen to make breakfast. He started pancake batter from scratch and then proceeded to ladle it onto the griddle. When the last four pancakes had heated from liquid to solid, he put the entire griddle in the oven. It was three more pancakes than Sara would eat on a normal day but Grissom hoped she would wake up hungry after eating nothing the day before.

He cleared his breakfast plates and then wrote a note to Sara to leave on the nightstand in the guest room. In it he explained that he would be gone a few hours because he needed to check on the test results of a time sensitive piece of evidence and that breakfast was keeping warm in the oven.

When he slipped through the guest room door, she was still asleep, curled up along the edge of the bed. The blankets had been spun and twisted, wrapping tightly around her body, indicating another nightmare. A wave of guilt overcame him for not being there to wake her from the inescapable terror.

He tiptoed to the nightstand and tucked one edge of the note beneath the alarm clock. His eyes absorbed her image in his spare bed. The bruises on her face had only darkened with time. The sight of the bruising under her eyes made him cringe, knowing she was in pain. While he did not want to wake her, Grissom felt an increase in his guilt at leaving her alone without telling her, especially after promising not to. He expected to be gone for a handful of hours and he was unsure of how she would feel about his disappearance, abandoning her when she had trusted him enough to ask for help.

Leaving was what he had to do. He had evidence in his car that could put away the man that had harmed her. His sense of justice won out over his guilt towards leaving her alone. Not wanting to stay long enough to second guess his decision, he gazed at her sleeping form for another second, brushed her silky hair back from her face, and kissed her forehead. He walked out of the room on soft feet.

Sara was startled awake by another nightmare. She was cold but her pajamas stuck to her skin with perspiration. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest beneath her trembling hand. Her heart rate only increased when she did not, right away, recognize where she had woken up. Taking a deep calming breath, the unique smell of the place was enough to remind her she'd stayed with Grissom. She remembered he was there when she fell asleep, but now there was no trace that he had been in bed with her. While it should not have surprised her, she thought that they had made progress last night. But the rule "one step forward, two steps back" apparently always held true when it came to their relationship, or lack there of.

Throwing back the covers and getting out of bed, she saw the piece of paper he had left on the nightstand. She read about the evidence he needed to check on and she read about the pancakes he'd left for her in the oven. He'd concluded the note with "From Grissom", and she found herself disappointed. But then again, did she really expect anything more?

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

After an extensive amount of time spent in the layout room, Grissom was labeling the last swab. He had collected everything possible from Sara's bed sheets: hairs, fibers, and swabs. With the sheets still spread across the light table, Grissom gathered his swabs and headed to DNA.

The lab tech behind him almost collided with Grissom when he stopped short outside of the glass-walled DNA lab. Wendy was still there, jotting something down in a file folder.

"What are you doing here?" Grissom asked, stepping hesitantly into her workspace.

"I could ask you the same thing," she quipped, referring to Grissom's scheduled night off. "Ecklie 'requested' I stay another half shift to help with some of day shift's backlog," Wendy said, flattening her hands on the metal tabletop. "What do you need?"

"These swabs need to be run through CODIS, but only run the male DNA samples," Grissom said, as he placed a shoebox size container onto the table.

"What's the case number?" Wendy asked, taking a boxed sample and turning it to discover the fill-in space for case number had been left blank.

"There isn't one," Grissom said, his words clipped. Wendy nodded.

"Are they priority?" she asked whilst gathering the evidence for temporary storage.

"Start them as soon as you've made enough progress that Ecklie won't hound you about the backlog his own DNA tech is too incompetent to handle."

"Okay. I should be able to get started in about an hour."

"Once you find a match, get the printout to me. Do not pass it to anyone else."

"Got it. Keep it on the DL," she said. Grissom was momentarily perplexed by her statement before realizing what her words meant. He nodded.

"Right," he said, proceeding to leave the DNA lab. "Oh, and Wendy," he said, spinning on his heel. She looked up from her current DNA test. "Thank you." She nodded and then he disappeared down the glass hallway.

Light from the layout room spilled out into the hallway from the open door Grissom knew he had closed upon leaving. He increased his pace, needing to see who was messing with his evidence. Again he found himself pausing at a threshold in bewilderment. A tall brunette in a baggy LVPD sweatshirt stood before the light table. She appeared to be staring at nothing.

"Sara?" His voice was almost shaky, as if he had seen a ghost. "What, what are you doing here, honey?" He stepped into the softly lit layout room and closed the door. She turned to him, displaying a perfect complexion, unmarred by bruising. Clearly she had covered up the painful reminders of her attack, but with what he did not know. There was no makeup in his townhouse.

"I thought I could see if you needed any help with your case. Marty told me where to find you," she said, hiding her hands in the long sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"Marty?" Grissom asked, his brow furrowed.

"CSI on days," she explained.

"Wait, how'd you get here?" he asked, remembering that he'd driven her to his townhouse and therefore her car was still at her apartment.

"I took a cab to my complex. I gave the driver a little extra to wait until I left my apartment and got into my car," she shrugged, acting as if it meant nothing that she feared her attacker might still be around. "Then I put on some makeup," she said, her fingers unconsciously skimming her injured cheek. "And then I got in my car and drove here."

"You didn't need to come here. You should've stayed at my place and rested," he said, though he knew his protest fell on dead ears.

"I'm fine," she said, almost smiling at how convincing she sounded. "What case are you working on?" she asked, training her eyes back on the bed sheets while putting on a pair of latex gloves. The snap of the rubber reminded him she'd asked a question.

"I'm uh, I'm all finished actually. I just need to pack up," Grissom said, beginning to clear the table.

"Oh…so what case were you finishing?"

"It's the um…uh…" he stuttered. He saw anger flare in her eyes the moment she made the connection.

"Grissom! I can't believe you!" she seethed.

"Sara-" he tried to explain, knowing this wasn't going to end well.

"You-you…I trusted you, Grissom!" she spat, saying his last name with venom. "Didn't you realize what it took for me to just call you? To ask you for help?" Sara shouted. She had begun to pace in front of him, thinking aloud as she pieced all of this together. "And then you just went behind my back…Did exactly what I told you not to…"

"Sara, please," he said, holding up his hands in a halting motion, but she was on a roll.

"Exactly what I didn't want or need you or anyone else to do! And here you are, processing my bed sheets in the middle of the lab! In front of the last people I would ever want to know about this!" Her voice had only increased in volume since she had first realized what Grissom had done, despite his attempts to calm her. "And then you just-"

He cut her off with his split second decision to cup her face gently in his hands and kiss her. He pushed his tongue passed her lips and he felt her rigid stance relax, leaning into him. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, holding his hands to her face. When he pulled away, he saw the tears of anger that made her eyes shine. He sighed.

"Do you really think that this doesn't bother me? That I don't care about you enough to want the guy who hurt you punished?" he asked.

"I didn't think you cared about me at all," she said. She released his wrists and then brushed passed him and out the door. She did not glance up at the spying eyes of the lab techs and CSIs outside the layout room. She knew her face was already burning with mortification at the spectacle she had made of them.

He turned to watch her go, paying little heed to the half a dozen people gawking through the layout room window. He didn't follow her.

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

**A/N: **Don't yell at me, yell at Grissom. In a review please ;)


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** I just want to say thank you so much for the amazing and encouraging reviews. You guys really are the best :) I can't promise this chapter will make you happy though. I apologize in advance, sometimes Gris and Sara whisper their stories in my ears and I can't just not go along with them ;) Feel free to skip this next part, as it is all about my recent drama that kept me from posting. The night I posted the previous chapter I learned that one of my chinchillas was sick. Only January 2nd and I already knew this was gonna be a bad year. And then the next day, Pineapple the chinchilla died. We took her to the vet and they took her back to run some tests but she died before they could even start them. I was devastated. And then on top of that we had to worry my other chinchilla, Sara, would get sick with whatever Pineapple had, or that she would be so lonely and depressed she'd die as well. Then came the long week of figuring out what to do. We ended up taking Sara to a pet store (Mark Morrone's store, if you know him) and she picked out a friend. We named her Kiwi because I thought we should keep the fruit names going in honor of Pineapple.

So, long story short, I apologize for not updating, and I dedicate this chapter to Pineapple the chinchilla.

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

Grissom went back to packing up the sheets and, without looking up, he shouted, "Get back to work". He heard their hurried footsteps as the lab techs scattered.

With the evidence locked up in his office, Grissom left the lab about half an hour after Sara had stalked out of the layout room. Unlocking the door to his townhouse, he heard the deadbolts turn. He didn't expect Sara to be there, but he was still disappointed when he opened the door to an empty house. Before he had even taken off his jacket, he had his cellphone out and her number dialed. She didn't answer.

Deciding it would be best to give her a day to cool off; he tried not to think about her. That wasn't such an easy thing to do when everything in his house reminded him of her. The problem was he could still smell her in his house. He found himself just sitting in the guest room to be where she once was. Her smell on the sheets and blankets was so strong, almost intoxicating, that he ended up throwing them all in the wash. Then, when he was in the kitchen, he saw her dishes still in the sink. So he washed those too. While cleaning the dishes, he found a long chestnut pigmented hair on his breakfast bar. He carefully pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. While it was just a strand of hair, it highlighted to him that her trace was all over his townhouse. So he vacuumed the two-level house. Along with cleaning any remnants of her out of his house, he was cleaning her out of his life. He just didn't realize it yet. And then, when he was finally satisfied that he had removed everything from his house that could possibly remind him of her, Grissom sat down on the couch only to realize he couldn't erase her from his mind that easily, even momentarily.

That night he went to work like nothing was amiss. He either ignored or was ignorant to the curious glances of wandering eyes as he walked through the fishbowl style hallways. Entering the break room, his team was looking at him expectantly with questions dying to be asked. He looked up to meet their stares.

"Where's Sara?" He asked, dropping the assignment slips to the table.

"We thought you would know," Nick said. Their questioning eyes changed to worrisome expressions. Grissom rushed out of the room and back through the fishbowl.

He threw open the door to his office, eyes searching for a blinking red light on his desktop telephone that would indicate a message or a missed call. There wasn't one, his desk was dark. He turned and went down another hall, ending up at the front desk.

"Judy, do I have any messages?" he asked, almost frantic. Pushing her glasses up higher on her nose, she looked up.

"No, sir, not since you checked in earlier."

He did not even try to reach Sara by phone; instead he walked out of the lab and to his car. His mind was filled with panic, erasing the twenty minute drive from his mind. He kept jumping between two options: Sara was ignoring him, Sara was in danger. There was every possibility in the world that her attacker had returned, but there was a better chance that she was still pissed at him. He skidded to a stop in front of her apartment building and jumped out of his vehicle without turning off the engine.

He banged with a closed fist on the dark wood door, shouting her name. He was impatient with worry and after a minute of banging on the door in the middle of the night (probably angering more than a few neighbors), he took the spare key she had given him, when she first moved in, out of his wallet.

He shoved open the door only to be met with a thick blanket of darkness. Grissom felt along the wall for the switch. Flicking it up, the living room and kitchen were bathed in light.

His heart fell into his stomach. Everything was… gone.

All that was left was the bare scuffed up hardwood floor and the light purple walls. He stepped further into the apartment to find the kitchen was just as empty. Grissom didn't need to look through the rest of the apartment to know what he'd find. His deductive reasoning skills told him the bedroom and bathroom looked much like the living space and kitchen.

He spotted a manila envelope on the countertop. He reached for it almost reluctantly; maybe if he did not open it, none of this would've happened. He lifted the flap and found a thin stack of papers and a folded note. He looked to the note first.

_Grissom, _

_Along with this note you'll find my resignation. I'm sorry I couldn't hand it to you in person. You know that I can't work in the lab anymore, but that's more my fault than yours. Aside from the embarrassment, I have worked hard all my life to not be that pitiful girl, especially after my mother killed my father. I'm not going to stay here and let myself fall back into that world. _

_Thank you for taking care of me earlier. I was a mess, but please don't worry about me anymore. I might not know where I'm going, but wherever I end up I'll get help to deal with this. I don't know if or when I'll be able to come back. Just know that none of this is your fault. _

_I'll miss you. _

_Forever yours,_

_Sara_

The note fell from his fingers, floating to the floor. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration before slamming his fist onto the counter. Leaning on his elbows, he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Fuck."

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

**A/N: **Sorry this was so short. I am going to post the epilogue now though so as not to keep you waiting any longer. I just ask that you please review both :)


	6. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, reading and reviewing or just reading. And an even bigger thanks to everyone who added this story or myself to their favorites/alerts lists. You guys rock :) Well, this is the end. My best friend begged me to change the ending but I just couldn't, I was satisfied with it. I hope you enjoyed this short journey.

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

**Epilogue **

Finally after almost a year, Grissom had the excuse he needed to track Sara down despite her wishes. Wendy had come into his office one day, handed him a large yellow envelope, and walked out. He'd known right away what it contained. After running her attacker's DNA sporadically through CODIS, a match had finally popped up. The man had been arrested six weeks ago for an attempted sexual assault, his cheek swabbed and fingerprints taken and entered into the federal systems.

At first, Grissom was unsure how to proceed with the new information. He could not have the man charged with Sara's rape. She had never filed a police report, there was no SAE kit, and the evidence he had collected would never hold up in court. It had never been officially collected and the chain of custody was broken the moment he gathered her sheets without being on the clock. He was uncertain as to whether or not Sara would want to know the identity of her rapist, especially after refusing to even report the attack, but he had a feeling that not knowing was driving her crazy. Thinking that every face she saw could've been the face of her attacker would surely drive any rational person insane. And now that time had passed, she deserved to be able to make a level-headed decision, without all of the emotion and fear she had felt when everything had happened.

Grissom put the DNA results into a manila envelope, similar to the one she had left her resignation in. He put that envelope in a slightly bigger envelope, along with a brief note containing only the words "If you ever want to know…"

About a week later, he received a letter in return to his office address. Tearing through the seal, he pulled out a single piece of loose-leaf. Unfolding it, he saw her usual chicken scratch forming two simple words: Thank you.

**Fin.**

_And I hurt so bad, that I search my skin_

_For the entry-point, where love went in_

_And ricocheted and bounced around_

_And left a hole, when you walked out_

~ Exit Wounds by the Script

**CSIGSRCSIGSRCSI**

**A/N: **A final review would be great. Thank you for sticking with me =)


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